


Sinnerman

by Raayide



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Dead Ben Hargreeves, Good Brother Ben Hargreeves, Good Brother Diego Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves has Powers, Klaus and Ben being Klaus and Ben, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, sort-of AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-01-31 13:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raayide/pseuds/Raayide
Summary: There were seven of them. One was strong, one could hit all manners of targets, one could change minds with a simple phrase, one could teleport through time and space, one could summon monsters from beyond, and one was ordinary.But perhaps, this story was not about them, after all.Or, in which Number Four's powers are different than expected, and both the world and its end are affected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Oh, sinnerman, where you gonna run to?"

On October 1st, 1989, forty-three children were born in the most unexpected way. There was no correlation between the mothers, no correlation between the countries, no correlation between the child.  
  
Except for one. They were all special, each in their own way.  
  
And so, Sir Reginald Hargreeves bought them.  
  
-  
  
The fourth child he had come in contact with was easy to grab. The mother, Viktoria Schmitt, was in her early twenties and asleep when she woke with a child between her legs. She was still in college, full of debt and no savings, as well as the only mother in Germany. Reginald only paid around nine hundred euros. She accepted it tearfully and handed over the squalling babe. Without another word, he turned and gave it to the woman following him. She nodded and placed him in the stroller.  
  
Only four. He needed more.  
  
-  
  
Number Four was never quiet. When he learned his first words at six months, he never stopped saying them, over and over again. The first was, unsurprisingly, the name of his nanny: Jen Jenny Jennifer, who had that gentle little smile and gave him a treat when he managed to fall asleep on his own. Because of the treats, he had gotten really good at ignoring the old man who always sat in the corner of his room, murmuring to himself in words Four hadn’t learned yet. His face always seemed to change, flickering blue and white before going back to regular. Everyone else's faces seemed to change, too. But one face stayed the same throughout his life, the word matching it being the thing to change. Dad.  
  
Later on, Sir.  
  
Four and Six were sitting together during reading time. Reginald had threatened to separate them after the last assigned reading time, but Six had promised to keep Four under control this time. They were always paired up, mainly One and Three, Two and Five, and then Four and Six. Seven joined with whatever group she wanted, which was normally Five’s. Sometimes Reginald would put her with Five from the start, but normally he made sure that One and Two were separated first.  
  
Six sighed, flipping the pages more aggressively than he normally did. His eyes were screwed shut.  
  
“What is it?” Four asked, leaning closer. They were only five and their reading was limited to small words, but Six had always been one of the smart ones and the book shouldn’t have been so frustrating. “The words?”  
  
“No.” Six shook his head. “They’re so loud. I just want them to be quiet.”  
  
Four blinked.  
  
He hadn’t heard anyone else complain about them. Normally, they just walked on by and ignore them, barely even acknowledging the louder screams. There were only a couple in the Academy - the old man in his room, two girls in the kitchen, a kind of shapeless blob that liked to scream at all hours, and a few more. His gaze slid the library’s occupant, a Jen-aged lady with bright teeth and a scared smile.  
  
“Yeah!”  
  
Six also blinked. “They talk to you too?”  
  
“Of course. They never stop! They always want help, but I don’t know how to help them.” Four mimed offering something to the lady, but her gaze was fixed on Seven’s back, muttering gibberish he couldn’t hear from over here.  
  
“They’re always hungry,” Six corrected, putting his book down to fully face Four. “They want food, I think, and to be let out. It’s hard to understand what they’re saying.”  
  
Four nodded. The girls in the kitchen were always hungry, too. They had spilled punch all over themselves, though, and didn’t ever want to clean it up. “Me too! Jen gives me a treat for ignoring them,” he says sagely. Six looks jealous.  
  
It took them a year to realize they were talking about very different things.  
  
-  
  
One by one, powers came.  
  
Five was the first to find his. During the running game, clambering up endless sets of stairs, he had suddenly yelped and then he was ahead of them all, still running without seemingly able to realize he was another floor up. When they were done - he had won - Five had accepted all of their praises with a smug smile. Reginald had taken him for special training for nearly a week and, when he had come back, he was flashing everywhere.  
  
One was next, but his was hard to find the exact time. One second he had been punching a sandbag, trying to get it to move, when the next it was breaking off its chain, nearly crushing the six-year-old beneath it. Reginald had taken him just like he had Five, and then he had super strength.  
  
Two found his through sheer rivalry. One was winning, doing something involving his super strength, and Two was behind because his shoe had fallen off. Yelling furiously, he had picked up the shoe and chucked it. With a grace the piece of clothing shouldn’t have had, it curved through the air and hit One squarely in the back of the head. Three ended up winning the race, but Two lorded his beating of One for the rest of the year, even though Reginald had taken him away, too.  
  
Broken windows found Seven. A riddle Reginald had given her laid on the ground, crowned by a mixture of broken glass, and the gentle singing of Jen from the kitchen had connected the dots quickly. Reginald had taken her away for the longest time yet, and she never really showed her powers to the rest of them.  
  
Three was difficult. She had always had a way with words, but it took a while to get the right combination. It actually came from a movie, one she had memorized and was watching with One on their free Sunday morning hour. She parroted the main character saying “I heard a rumor-” and then suddenly One was running down to the kitchen to make a meal for her. Jen found him before he could burn the Academy down, and Three had exercised her power over them ever since. One never seemed to mind.  
  
Six was the scariest. They only found him in the aftermath, lying on his back in the training room with his shirt ripped open and all of the training dummies torn to shreds. It took him three days to start talking again, despite Reginald’s best threats, but when he finally admitted to Four what it was, huddled under his blanket with a flashlight between them, it didn’t seem like nearly as nice of a power as the others’.  
  
Four’s, however, wouldn’t come.  
  
No matter how many times he threw knives, or jumped off of high places, or tried to make himself so angry at the next test question, nothing came except Reginald’s disappointment. His special training consisted of stony silence while the others practiced their powers. Six tried to help him, and Two would agree to explain what it felt like to throw his knives, but they all fell flat.  
  
And so he tried, but nothing came. Even the new nanny, Charlotte, wouldn’t help him, and Jen would only stare into space instead of giving him treats for ignoring the old man. He pushed himself through the lessons, but it felt so wrong without doing something next to his siblings. He was wrong.  
  
-  
  
Four was in a line. He raised his fists to his sides, keeping his thumbs on the outside. His legs were squared beneath him, shoulders back and head raised. At only six and a half years of age, he liked to hold himself taller than he was, even raising himself on tiptoe to try and mimic Charlotte. He knew he was shorter than both One and Two, and Six was quickly catching up, but wanted to stay in the lead above Three, Five, and Seven. His tousled brown hair stood proud above the line.  
  
Reginald walked down the line, eyes narrowed behind his ever-present monocle. “Fists up, Number Three!” He barked, and his sister jerked higher. “And you, Number Five. Eyes forward.”  
  
Four tried to stand just a little taller, just to be equal to Two, but Reginald snapped toward him. “Number Four! No smiling. Stand still.” Deflated, he sunk back to his regular position and tried to smooth his face over.  
  
“Now. Left!”  
  
He slid his left fist forward, imagining a target before him. Six others moved with him. They stopped moving, waiting for Reginald to check them other. Seven was forced to tighten her fist.  
  
“Right!”  
  
Left back, right forward. He tensed his arm and waited, bouncing on his heels. One beamed as Reginald walked past him without comment. Two flexed his fingers and narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Left!”  
  
Again.  
  
“Number Four, control yourself! Your punches are aimed in every direction. Imagine a target!”  
  
Four blinked, then looked around. Jen should be somewhere around here, still in the prim and press dress she always wore. She liked to follow Seven around - he was a little jealous that she was her favourite - but he was sure she would help him. He wasn’t going to be hitting her, anyway - just pretending to.  
  
There she was, in the corner. Her eyes looked strange with the weird way she was holding her neck, but her mouth still moved to match the quiet whispers he could hear. “Jen Jenny?”  
  
Reginald narrowed his eyes. “Number Four, if you are trying to get out of training-”  
  
“No, wait! I just want to practice, I’m not going to actually hit her!” He said, eyes wide as he fell out of his stance. Six looked over at him, confused, but kept his fists raised. Two raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Jennifer is not here anymore, Number Four,” Reginald said, voice low. “Charlotte is in the kitchen.”  
  
Four paused and turned to him. “What, sir?” He pointed to the corner where she stood still, eyes fixed unendingly on Seven. “She’s right over there. Jen Jenny? Could you help me? I promise I’ll be good!”  
  
Jen’s eyes slowly slid over to him. He grinned and waved cheerfully, gesturing her over to him. Her words cut off.  
  
Reginald opened his mouth but then Four was running, eyes wide and arms pumping at his sides. Jen shrieked, mouth opening impossibly wide as her twisted neck bobbed. She wasn’t moving, legs frozen stiff, but somehow she was coming closer to him, screaming for help and saying his name over and over again and it was so loud-  
  
One stretched an arm out on Reginald’s command and Four smacked face-first into it, falling abruptly onto the ground. Jen’s fingers reached for him, shouting his name and Seven’s name and Reginald’s name and pleading for help.  
  
Reginald’s face appeared where hers was, and Four was horrified to realize that his went through hers, Jen’s body thrashing beneath the bushy mustache and monocle. “Number Four,” he said slowly. “I believe we have found your power.”  
  
-  
  
They weren’t normal, they were ghosts, and Four was so, so confused. He stumbled out of the special training room, eyes immediately going to the side where Jen was floating. She hadn’t attacked him like she did the first time, but now she never left his side, asking for help in the same sweet little voice she used to use when giving him a treat. It was all so loud and, apparently, no one else can see or hear her.  
  
He walked through the halls, followed by the nanny. She was dead. A broken neck, which he didn’t even know could happen, and so now she was next to him because he can still see her and she wants help. It was so much worse than it was before, because now she knew his name, and he didn’t know how to ignore her like the quiet old man.  
  
Charlotte smiled at him when he enters the kitchen, trailing his feet and barely up to her waist. “Hello, little Four. What would you like?”  
  
“Cookies,” he said stubbornly. Jen used to give him treats or brownies, and he didn’t want to be reminded of her. Behind him, her voice pleaded for help. “Chocolate. Sprinkles?”  
  
She smiled again, wider, and tousled her hair like she always did. “Of course. Would you like to help?”  
  
“Yeah.” His gaze slid over to the two girls, even younger than he was, and the two neat lines over their throats that he thought was them spilling punch. Blood? They died. They were dead, and no one else could see them, and now one of them was looking over at Jen, a confused expression on her young face. Her twin stopped jumping around the kitchen, coming to her sister’s side, and then they’re both looking at Jen. He traced their gaze to Jen, who was looking at him. And then they’re looking at him, too.  
  
“No,” he started, eyes going wide. “Wait, no, please, don’t start-"  
  
Charlotte opened her mouth but he was already moving, trying to get past the three ghosts that have begun to shout. Jen Jenny Jennifer was still screaming the same endless plea for help she had been doing since the beginning, but now the girls were there too, and their high, squeaking voices were almost worse, because he didn’t know them but he knew they were dead. And they always would be.  
  
He locked himself in his room and screamed.  
  
-  
  
It had been a week and he was starting to get used to it. Four had been so careful, so painstakingly careful in the way he never was, to try and keep the old man in his room from finding out he could see him, and it had mostly worked. For the first night, Jen stayed out of his room, floating and screaming and pleading, and the girls never went far from their kitchen. The man was more active, actually standing up and moving around for a little bit, but he always sat back down on the old chair in the corner Four now refused to touch.  
  
And then Jen came into his room, the man had heard her, and then they were all screaming.  
  
He tried his best. Yelling right back at them, telling and asking and begging them to go away, but whenever he tried to touch them his hands just went straight through. How had he never tried to touch them before? Why hadn’t he?  
  
The old man, strangely, seemed to understand. He stopped his yelling and looked at Four, really looked at him, and then nodded his head and said he was sorry. Four was so confused he almost didn’t hear the man, but then he said it again and turned to Jen. Four, from where he was hidden under his bed with hands clasped over his ears, missed most of the conversation, but when he peeked back into the room, Jen was gone and only the old man was left.  
  
“What’s your name?” He asked a bit shyly, crawling out from underneath his bed. The old man looked surprised when he asked, before turning fully to face him.  
  
“My name is Robert, young man, Robert Williams. I lived in an old farmhouse that used to be here, and when I died, I suppose I didn’t want to leave. At first, it was for my daughter, and then her grandson, but after that, I guess my old bones are too attached to Earth. Maybe one day, I’ll leave. I’ve seen what happens to those who stay, and I’d like to leave before that happens to me, I think.”  
  
Four tried to roll with it, bobbing his head as if listening to music. “Okay. Why are you here, though? In my room?”  
  
Robert shrugged. “A chair, my boy. A chair and something to watch, that’s all I really need.”  
  
“Okay.” Four was fully out in the center of the room now, watching the old man carefully. His ears still hurt. “Will you tell me more?”  
  
-  
  
When he finally emerged, Two and Six cornered him. At first, he tried to avoid them as smoothly as he could, but training times were in groups he didn’t get to choose, and he couldn’t deal with the concerned looks Six was constantly giving him. And so, when their curfew came close, he gathered them all in his room and introduced them to Robert.  
  
Jen still wasn’t allowed in his room, Robert said, until she learned to be nice to him. The girls in the kitchen still screamed whenever they saw him, and so he stayed out of the kitchen, though he made sure to still talk to Charlotte whenever he could find her. The other ghosts didn’t come close to him all that much, and only the library ghost and strange blob had noticed he could see them.  
  
Two and Six were suspicious, and it must have looked strange to see him talking to the air as if a person was there, but Six adjusted quickly and Two joined after that. They asked Robert all sorts of questions, with Four translating in the middle, but they talked for nearly the whole night.  
  
Reginald found out, and it was Four that was punished instead of the others, mainly for refusing to come to special training or training at all when he had locked himself in the room. He quizzed Four on everything Robert had said, and was able to confirm he had been a real person living on the land here before it was turned into the Academy. After that, Four’s special training redoubled.  
  
One and Three weren’t that interested in his powers, and he couldn’t blame them. Without being able to see the ghosts as he could, it was boring to others. Five asked him all sorts of questions, like he always did, and wondered a lot. Seven asked politely about a few things, but always went back to her training. Two and Six stuck by him for most of it.  
  
Special training was exhausting. Reginald made him find as many ghosts as he could, even the ones that didn’t yet know he could see them, and talk to them, trying to find out how much information they could remember. The girls were Robert’s old great-granddaughters, killed in an unknown murder crime. The lady in the library was someone Reginald knew that he wouldn’t allow Four to ask questions to. The energy blob only screamed, only ever screamed, and started to follow Four around for a while until he left the house, and then it retreated to its spot in the unused room.  
  
Robert told him about the thing. It had been a ghost once, able to remember everything that had happened in its previous life, but when it died it didn’t want to move on. Robert had done it to watch over his family, but many others did it because they had been killed or died in an unexpected way and didn’t want to leave because they were confused. It had once known what was going on, but it had lost itself, lost its soul and sentience, couldn’t think for itself and was only a hunk of energy. Four didn’t understand all of the words when he was told it, but by using Five, he was able to get the gist. It didn’t make full sense, and so he named it himself.  
  
Robert was a ‘ghost’. The blob was a ‘dead’. They were in the ‘world’ and when they passed, they were in the ‘not-world’. At the time, they were the best he could come up with. Reginald had been disappointed at his simple vocabulary, but Four refused to call it by anything else now.  
  
There was another dead in the courtyard, even less formed than the dead in the Academy. It shrieked no different whether it knew whether he was able to see it or not.  
  
They were all so loud.  
  
Music helped. He’d shoved old earplugs into his ears as far as they would go and sing furiously whenever Robert wasn’t able to control Charlotte the same way he controlled Jen or the dead followed him into his room, and sometimes when he left his room. Seven, when she got a violin, would sometimes play for him, chasing away the loudest of the screams and entertaining Robert when the old man came out of his room to listen. Though she couldn’t hear the compliments, she still blushed when Four relayed them to her.  
  
Training increased for all of them on their seventh birthday. There wasn’t much of a celebration, but Adeline made them a cake. Charlotte and Jen both spouted gibberish from behind the table, and Four did his best to forget them. Adeline only spoke French, but she baked the most wonderful pancakes, and she even allowed him to put sprinkles on them in a way that Reginald would give him more training if he ever found out.  
  
Reginald decided to increase training for Four once again. This time, he was put in the room with the dead until he could pick out a few words it was saying. He was shaken and trembling by the time he came out, but it was progress - more than Six can say. Six hated everything to do with Them. Reginald named them the Horrors but Six called Them by the same name he had since he first became aware of the things living in his chest. Them.  
  
Adeline appeared to him in the morning, and Robert couldn’t chase off the combined might of her and Charlotte. Four screamed that morning, face stuffed underneath his pillow, and the next day he found his room soundproofed. Now, no matter how much he cried out, neither Two nor Six could hear him.  
  
Another nanny came, and this one was different. Grace was kind and sweet in all the right ways, but sometimes she froze and took too long to respond and no matter what Four did, he felt his skin crawl when he was around her. It took him a while with Robert’s help to figure it out, but she didn’t have the energy both the alive and the ghosts and the dead have. She wasn’t real.  
  
Her food was always perfect, and she was always nice, and Two loved her, and so Four pushed that aside.  
  
Then Seven went missing.  
  
He couldn’t find her all morning, and she wasn’t there for their scheduled reading time. Five looked lost, reading with Two, and Four and Six talked for the entire time about where she could be. She wasn’t injured during their training and Grace told them she was in perfect health the day before.  
  
Reginald called them together after Four and Six tag-teamed him, and told them all she was sick and in the infirmary. He didn’t respond to any more comments for the rest of the day, and neither would Grace or Pogo.  
  
Then, when Four woke the next morning, he found Three standing sullenly at the foot of his bed. Reginald was at her side, hand on her back. “Do it, Number Three” he said, voice the same cold and sharp it always was.  
  
“Three, wait-” Four started, but Three was already speaking.  
  
“I heard a rumor you thought Seven was ordinary.”  
  
Robert was shouting when he woke up. The birds were chirping through the window and the sunlight was streaming to touch his bed and why was there shouting? He couldn’t see Jen or Charlotte or Adeline and oh. It was Robert.  
  
“Why are you screaming?” Four asked, feeling the horrible twinge in the bottom of his gut. Was Robert starting to turn into one of the dead? He had been around for too long and now he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming, and Four would have to live with him screaming when he had been a friend-  
  
In a sudden burst of betrayal, he rushed out of his bed and ran at the old man. His left hand raised itself out of deep, hidden instincts.  
  
When he hit Robert square across the chest, the old man stopped screaming and disappeared. He passed out in the same location, left arm still stretched out. When he woke up, the sky was dark and his room was loud. Jen and Charlotte and Adeline shrieked from the corner, the dead from the room had found its way into his bedroom and was screaming alongside them.  
  
Robert was no longer there to protect him.  
  
-  
  
Three didn’t talk to any of them for a few days. She just stayed in her room and Reginald, surprisingly, didn’t try to get her out. When she finally emerged, she was the same snarky personality she had always been, but she stopped using her powers to get the rest of them to do things for her. One seemed almost hurt, but she never explained it to them and eventually, they forgot.  
  
Seven was quiet, but she had always been. Four tried to get her to join his and Six’s group during reading time, but she stuck to Five’s side more than ever and rarely separated from him even in the worst of times. In training, she was on the side with Reginald, marking down their progress, writing down his responses when Reginald asked in the calm sharp voice when Four was trying to get answers out of the screaming dead in the hallway.  
  
More ghosts were coming, and he didn’t know how to stop them. Robert had never taught him how and he didn’t know how he had sent the old man away. For some reason, he never told Reginald about Robert or what had happened.  
  
That would be the first of many disobeyed commands.  
  
-  
  
He hissed with pain, but the man doing his tattoo barely so much as glanced at him. One hadn’t so much as twitched when he was getting his and Four tried to be as strong as him, but it was like the needle was moving in slow motion, puncturing through his skin like a dagger. He was eight years old today. He could be strong enough.  
  
When it was done, he immediately hopped out of the chair and shook himself. He hated being tied down, where the ghosts were free to scream at him. Today, it was only Charlotte and Adeline - Jen had started to take on more and more signs of turning in a dead, and she had planted herself in the kitchen. Four didn’t know why, but he was grateful she had started to stay in one area.  
  
Bandages were wrapped loosely around the tiny black umbrella, his number etched below. The man didn’t repeat the speech he had given them at the beginning of the session - don’t remove the bandages until an entire day had gone by, then cover them with this special cream at breakfast and lunch for a week or something. Four hadn’t really heard him, but he knew Six would have.  
  
Speaking of which, he ran over to his brother, who was watching Five twitch on the chair with wide eyes. “You ready, Sixy?”  
  
“Does it hurt?” He whispered back, grabbing at his arm.  
  
Four shrugged. “Well, yeah, but Two’s knives are so much worse.” He rolled his eyes in the most dramatic way possible. “And especially when Daddy doesn’t let us heal until he gets his targets right - and of course, I’m taller than you, so I’m always chosen to stand next to the target. Ugh, why are you so much shorter than me? Grow already!”  
  
Six hurriedly shushed him, trying to keep still under Reginald’s narrow eyes, but he was grinning, and when he stepped up to the chair, he didn’t seem as scared. Five shoved at his hand when he tried to sling it over his shoulders, flashing out. He reappeared the next second with a glass of water, holding it in a death grip in his uninjured hand. Reginald didn’t scold him, surprisingly - maybe because there was a guest over.  
  
Seven stood quietly in the corner, a marker in her hand. Four made a movement to walk over to her - One didn’t need checking up on and Two didn’t like it when he did that - when she abruptly turned and sped up the stairs. Reginald narrowed his eyes at where she had been but didn’t say anything. Four changed his course and went to talk to Three, who was leaning on One and biting her lip. It really had hurt.  
  
Seven didn’t like to spend time around him anymore. He didn’t know why it hurt so much.  
  
-  
  
Soft tunes flickered through his ears and he sunk deeper into his blankets. For their ninth birthday, Reginald had allowed them all to relax until noon, skipping combat training, though they still had to wake up at seven for breakfast. Four was late and he had gotten yelled at, but it was worth it because he was now here and being calm.  
  
They were allowed music as one of the few things that wasn’t regulated nearly as strictly. One had a big clunky record player, and most of the others just used that, but Four had pleaded with his father last year to get him a walkman, complaining of the ghosts and the dead and how Jen was losing her dress with every passing day. Reginald had gotten him one, but he didn’t like the gleam in the man’s eyes.  
  
The music switched to another 80s tune he didn’t really remember the name of and he had just closed his eyes when the door of his room banged open.  
  
Four jerked and nearly fell off his twin bed before he took in the fact it was Six standing there, shoulders heaving and eyes wild. He immediately tugged out his headphones and flew to him, catching his shaking brother in a hug and lowering them both to the ground. “What’s wrong - um - is it Dad, is he doing training even though he said not to-”  
  
“It’s Them,” Six whispered, voice raw like he had been holding in screams. “Feel Them, Four, They’re moving so much, They think something is coming and I can’t tell Them it isn’t-”  
  
Four reached forward and splayed his hand over Six’s chest. And lord, he could feel them, he could feel something twitching beneath his fingers like a dozen hungry snakes who hadn’t yet realized they were trapped together. Six cut off another choked sob and Four dropped his hand, pulling him tighter to his side.  
  
“Listen Six, it’s going to be alright, yeah? They can’t come out without you releasing Them and They must just be upset for nothing, I remember you ate Mom’s blueberry pancakes this morning even when I said you shouldn't because they couldn’t be blueberries, they were purple, maybe They’re upset because purple blueberries are a crime against humanity-”  
  
Six sniffed and Four jumped hurriedly on. “And you were reading yesterday about eels, right, and we were trying to figure out what our favourite species was? They’re just upset you didn’t pick them, They aren’t going to come out, come on, you’ve got this…”  
  
It took him far too long to fully calm Six down, but by the time he did, his chest had stopped moving and he was able to breath full breaths. They both collapsed further onto the ground, and Four pointedly ignored the gibbering ghost of Charlotte and offered his walkman to Six, watching his brother lay on the floor and focus on nothing but music until Reginald called them all for training.  
  
-  
  
Mom gathered them all into a room and sat there with Pogo, wide endless grin on her face. Four felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up even when he tried to ignore the lack of energy surrounding her form. Two raised his hand as if to ask what was going on and she turned to him, gently tousling his hair like Charlotte always did. “What is it, dear?”  
  
“W-why did you call us h-here?” Two said stubbornly, stutter momentarily stronger in his confusion of the events. Still though, Mom clapped her hands and praised him, letting Two revel in the praise before she turned to them all again.  
  
“Why, you all are ten, of course!” She said warmly. “Pogo and I have been talking to your father, and we felt that a perfect birthday present would be your very own names!”  
  
Four knew everyone’s eyes had widened alongside his own. A name? He already had his own - Four, Number Four, Master Four, dear - but he hadn’t considered having something that wasn’t that. But it made sense. Pogo had a name, and Mom’s name was Grace, and Dad’s name was Reginald or Sir. Maybe he did want his own name.  
  
He bumped shoulders with Six, and his brother turned to him with excited eyes. “My own name!” He whispered, grinning wildly. “They don’t like the name Sir gave Them, but I’m going to get one and They’ll be stuck without!”  
  
And Four was convinced as well.  
  
Mom went down the line. “Now, dearie, you were born in the USA! A lot of names there are very common, but I feel like you want something to stand out. How do you feel about Luther?”  
  
One’s chest immediately puffed out. “Luther Hargreeves,” he said, testing it in the air. A grin split his face and he nodded politely.  
  
She smiled back and moved on. “And you, you were born in Spain! Oh, your father told me your mother was a very kind woman. Diego just seems to roll right off the tongue, doesn’t it?”  
  
Two didn’t need more than a moment’s hesitation to accept it. “I love i-it, Mom.” He embraced her, and she patted his head.  
  
“Of course, dear. And you! Miss Three, you were also born in America! For a future star, Allison fits, doesn’t it?”  
  
She smiled and nodded, seeming to mull it over. Her lips mouthed the word several times, and eventually ducked her head prettily and said her thanks. Within a second, she had scooted over to the newly-named Luther and started to talk about where they had both come from.  
  
Four couldn’t stand still as she came over, bouncing up and down on his heels. She smiled and waited until he calmed, lips fixed firmly in place. “You were born in Germany, my little Four, and you deserve a fantastic name to match your fantastic personality! What about Klaus?”  
  
Klaus. He spun it around in his mouth. He hadn’t ever heard it before but somehow it seemed to fit him, fit the strange little aspects of himself he hadn’t quite brought to the air yet and make them make sense. “Thanks, Mom.”  
  
She smiled at him. “Of course, dear.”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Five said before she even got to him. “Five is elegant and is useful in my equations. I could never solve how much energy I need to travel from here to my room with something as useless as ‘Aiden’ or the like.”  
  
Mom tutted but moved on. Six practically opened his mouth to say yes before she even said anything. “And you, dear, were born in Canada here! Your mother was from Korea, but she gave herself a Canadian name and I think you’d like one, too. How about Benjamin?”  
  
“Of course!” He managed, grinning and bouncing around. Without a heartbeat to spare as Mom moved down the line, he sped over to Klaus and started tapping his shoulder. “Benjamin, do you hear that, Benjamin Hargreeves-”  
  
“You were born in Russia, miss Seven,” Mom said warmly, smile still there. “Vanya means gracious gift, and I think that fits you nicely.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said back, looking at them all before getting up and quietly leaving the room. Only a few of them noticed she left.  
  
Benjamin was still bouncing around the room and Klaus joined him, clasping his hands in hands and spinning like they were out of control. Two- no, Diego - jumped out of the way and glared at them before abruptly stopping their circle, grabbing hands in his and then they were all spinning, running, jerking around in a big circle in the middle of the room. Luther and Allison left together. Five rolled his eyes and flashed out.  
  
Together, they kept spinning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So I run to the Lord,  
>   
> Please hide me, Lord,  
>   
> Don't you see me prayin'?"

“Benjamin,” Klaus said to the mostly empty room. He tapped his long fingers over his blanket, curled up on the couch as he was. Sundays were fantastic. Luther and Allison were somewhere on the roof, Five and Vanya were willing doing reading time, and Diego was sleeping, he thought. “Ben-ja-min.”

The brother in question rolled his head to look over at him. “Yeah?”

“Shush. Ben-jamin. Jammin! Mr. Ben Jamming, how to do you like jam? Or jamming about?”

Benjamin tilted his head back, bumping his hair against Klaus’ skinny legs. “With how often you force me to dance with you, I should at this point.” He paused. “And jam is good. Cherry. Blueberry?”

Klaus flicked his nose. “Oh, you be quiet. You definitely like dancing. How about that one song you kicked a hole in the wall trying to spin me-”

His brother stuck his finger in his page, closed his book, and smacked Klaus on the chest without looking. He pouted but stopped talking for a few moments. “And obviously strawberry, what are you even talking about? I’ll going to get Mom to make you cherry jam for your biscuits, let’s see how you like it.”

Though he couldn’t see his face, Klaus knew Benjamin had just rolled his eyes. He went back to reading, and Klaus went back to drawing on his arms. He had pilfered markers from Allison’s supply and was coming up with sketches and ideas of tattoos he might want to get later on. Though the pain of the umbrella tattoo had been really great, he loved running his fingers over the thick black lines and knowing they were there. He wanted more.

With a grin, he stretched out his left arm and started sketching. Taking a couple of minutes for maximum quality, he scooted forward and bumped Benjamin’s head with his legs. His brother deftly ignored him for a few seconds, but then eventually sighed and tilted his neck back. “Yeah?”

Klaus proudly showed off his arm. It was wide, blocky letters spelling BENJAMIN, surrounded by a tiny jar of jam and a loosely-drawn tentacle. “S’not my best work, but anything with your name on it looks good,” he said, moving his arm closer to Benjamin’s face when it seemed like the boy had lost interest. “Hey, do you think I could bribe Dad to let me get this for our eleventh birthday? And you could get one with my name on it!”

“Maybe,” he said noncommittally. “But your tattoo would be wrong.”

Klaus gaped, sneaking his gaze over to his arm. He could have sworn he had spelled that right - how could his misspell his own brother’s name? No. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. “What do you mean?”

Benjamin sighed, turned fully, and reached up. Holding Klaus’ arm in place to his brother’s confused questions, he began to scrub off the ‘jamin’. Black smeared over his arm like he had dipped it in a bath of ink but when he was done, the name ‘Ben’ was there instead, a very blurry tentacle next to it.

Klaus blinked. “Ben?”

His brother nodded, a little worry tugging at his lips.

Klaus blinked again. “We’ve had our names for two weeks! Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Ben had a little smile on his face, even as he turned back to his book. “You didn’t ask. Beside, I was still figuring out whether I liked it or not. This just proves it.”

Klaus laughed, Ben laughed, and when it died down to chuckles Klaus was struck by a brilliant idea. “Hey, now we’re the single-syllable crew! And Five, I guess. But he doesn’t count. Ben and Klaus, partners in crime!”

Ben flipped another page in his book. “Your handwriting was rather good. I’ll give you that. But the jam was terrible.”

Klaus sniffed and turned away. “And just think. I was about to create a full floor-to-ceiling mural in your honor, but now you have insulted me. Maybe I’ll just put nerd instead. All you need is glasses to complete the look, anyway.”

This time, he was able to dodge the smack of the book, and Klaus ran away from Ben, hooting, when his brother tried to hunt him down.

(He did create a mural. It wasn’t nearly as big as he promised, and the quality left a lot to be desired, but Ben still hugged him when he proudly showcased the little picture of the boy reading a book)

-

Diego stared across the room and raised his eyebrows. “You know, if I wasn’t trying to actively teach you to be good at this, I might be impressed.” Klaus groaned and collapsed further on the ground. His wrist ached.

Seven knives littered the far wall. The first thrown was squarely in the middle of the target, the tip perfectly embedded into the thick wood. Diego had thrown that one. Klaus had thrown the six scattered on the floor at the target’s base.

“I did manage to hit the target once,” he said off the ground.

“With the handle,” Diego corrected, leaning down to grab Klaus by the ankle. The smaller of the boys yelped as Diego began to drag him over the ground, kicking one of the scattered knives out of the way. “Let’s try a little closer.”

Klaus groaned as his head thunked against the cement. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Fail your hand-to-hand combat for a week straight. You need to be able to defend yourself, Klaus, and Dad is getting frustrated. C’mon. You’re the one who convinced me to do this.” With a grunt, he pulled Klaus upright and pressed another knife into his hands.

He sighed and shuffled into the stance Diego had taught him. Feet shoulder-width apart, one more forward than the other, knees slightly bent. He flipped the knife around, took aim, and threw.

The very tip hit the outermost ring and stuck.

Klaus stood in breathless silence for a second before it became clear that the knife was actually in the target. “Holy shit!”

Diego cuffed him.

“Ow, Diego, stop it- I did it! Look at that! What do you mean that you’re the knife-throwing expert of the family, look who is stepping in, or maybe sliding in, because you are for some reason very determined to trip me-” Diego’s foot curled neatly under his ankle and sent him plummeting to the ground. With agility only born from fighting Five on combat training, he managed to catch Diego’s sleeve on the way down and pull him alongside him.

Diego scowled, but his lips curled up at the corners, and it was only a threat of stabbing that made Klaus let go.

-

Allison’s room was right next to Luther’s, and Klaus felt like a super spy.

He pressed himself against the wall, fingers splayed over the paint, and peered around the corner. All clear so far. Slinking forward as if he was a cat, he circled quickly around the wall and tucked himself in a corner.

Luther would drop him right in front of Dad if he was caught, so it was incredibly important to not be. 

Allison never locked her room, and that made it a hundred times easier. They were done with training for the day and Luther and Allison almost always headed up to the roof before curfew. That left a relatively clear path to Allison’s room.

Five had given him a half confused, half disgusted look as he crawled through the hallways, but nothing else had happened. Mom was in the kitchen, Pogo was with Dad, and Ben was waiting in his room for his return. Diego was probably brooding somewhere.

He carefully twisted the door handle and crept inside. Nothing.

Klaus danced over to the closet, pulling that door open and letting his gaze fall down. And there, tucked in the corner, was what he had been searching for. A pair of nude heels, three inches above the ground and secured in more straps than he could count.

Letting out a delighted giggle, he scooped them up and fled out of the room.

“This is an awful idea,” Ben commented, watching him try and struggle into the shoes that were a size too small and a year too complicated. Klaus threw him a dirty look over his shoulder, before finally managing to pop the second one on.

“Shut up. Give me a shoulder, will you?”

Ben sighed and stood up, setting his book down. He crossed quickly and offered his hand to Klaus, who gratefully used it to pull himself to his feet.

Instantly, he knew it was right. His feet slid forward before the straps caught, but then he was taller, standing almost a full head above Ben now. He laughed again, keeping one hand in a death grip on Ben’s arm. “Look at this!”

Ben grinned a bit nervously back at him. Klaus was stumbling around, balance like a newborn colt, but his smile was as wide as his face and the pleadings of the ghosts were nothing more than whispers to his laughter. 

Klaus gasped dramatically, raising his free hand to his head and tracing it through the air. Ben rolled his eyes as his hand reached over half a foot above his head. “Aha! Benny boy, when I wear these, I’ll never have to worry about you beating me again!”

His eyes widened. “Wait, do you think I’d be taller than Diego?”

“Huh.” Ben tilted his head, looking up. “Maybe. He’s not that much taller than you. There isn’t a way to know unless-”

Klaus was already out of the room and yelling. Everyone should be doing something except he didn’t know where Diego was. Wait, what if he was taller than even Luther in these heels?

“Diego! Diego!” He shouted to the house. “Come here, I bet I’m taller than you! Where are-”

Klaus wasn’t looking where he was going, and the stairs came far too fast for him to avoid. His heel caught the edge but his toes fell over the lip, and soon he was plummeting beside them.

His knees hit the stairs and threw him further down. Distantly, there was a scream he recognized as Ben’s before he hit the bottom face first.

Stars popped behind his eyes. He curled in on himself, hands over his head and knees pressed to his chest. There were footsteps running down the stairs and from the room across the hall. His eyes were closed and his face shrieked its own pain to drown out all voices from around him. Hands were touching his shoulders and he could distinctly feel the coarse fur of Pogo near his neck. He refused to open his eyes, clutching desperately at his face even though the pain rose. His chin felt like it had splintered.

Hands wrapped around him, lifting him, and then he was moving. What felt like hours later he was on a bed in the infirmary, feet scrabbling at thin sheets and hands holding down his limbs. A white-hot pinprick of pain hit his inner arm and then a thick, rich black was floating over the darkness from his closed eyes.

He knew Diego had broken his arm before. Ben had cracked ribs from releasing Them. Five had flashed over a hole and twisted his ankle. They had all been injured. But his worst had been cuts and bruises and abrasions. Breaking his jaw was the worst pain he had ever experienced.

Klaus stared blankly up at the ceiling. But the thing was that it didn’t hurt.

Pogo had injected him with something - he didn’t know what - but whatever it was, it stopped all pain from anywhere. Nothing from the scratch on his lower leg, nothing from the bruise on his elbow from the needle, nothing from the crack over his face. Nothing but quiet bliss.

There were no ghosts in the room. He knew there should be at least one - a young something or other he tried not to pay attention to - but it wasn’t here. The only sound was the hum of the heating he had never heard before. There had always been moans or whispers or shouts he could hear from somewhere in the house, but now they were all gone.  
He closed his eyes and leaned further back into the pillow. Silence.

When Mom finally released him, he had stumbled into Ben’s room and sat down on his brother’s bed. That jerked the other awake, and then they were hugging, but when Ben asked him a question he couldn’t do anything but shake his head. Klaus pointed at his jaw, at the white gauze still wrapped solidly around it.

No talking, he tried to show. It took Ben a second but he figured it out quickly, and when Diego damn near broke the door trying to get inside, he explained it quickly. Klaus was asked to shake or nod his head, but he chose to do elaborate charades instead, which was surely more entertaining to him than to his brothers.

Five appeared a while later, and Allison later to punch him for stealing her heels and then hug him for being okay. Luther stood awkwardly in the doorway and Klaus thanked him through interpretive dance for being the one to carry him to the infirmary. Even Vanya poked her timid head into the room and they were a family again, Ben hurriedly translating as fast as he could and Five rolling his eyes every sentence or two.

For Klaus, however, the appeal died quickly. Talking was just such a part of him, right next to the same part that had made him try on the heels, and without it, he felt empty. Trying to hurt but the ghosts screamed louder, and now the only way he could drown them out was music. Reginald allowed him some leeway for the first few days but when he was consistently late, unable to hear the bell through the walkman, he was punished. Klaus endured it stonily. He always did.  
-  
Klaus learned of the attack before the newscast had even heard whispers.

The first sign was easy enough to ignore. A new ghost floating through the walls, gibbering words too fast for him to understand with a bullet hole between her eyes. Ghosts killed like that always wandered before they found their place to haunt, wanting to avoid their own corpse, and so while Klaus wondered at who had killed her he just kept talking to Ben during reading time and earning narrow glares.

But then another came. A man, not five minutes after the first, with more bullet holes in his chest. Maybe they were married, and a murderer had gotten into their house. It was a large city. It made sense.

A third, woman with hoarse, croaking gasps through the hole in her throat. Okay. Cheating husband, wife kills the side chick, then the man, then herself? It could still check out. He flicked furiously through his pages.

But then there were dozens.

All covered in small little holes that dripped blood onto the ground that only he could see, waving their hands as he tried his damned hardest to ignore them. There were so many - at most, he had only dealt with the trio of dead nannies, and that had pushed him to nearly punching Reginald. He was only twelve, he couldn’t deal with enough ghosts to beat his age three times over. 

Ben noticed his stiff shoulders but Klaus could only see his lips moving, couldn’t hear him over the wails of the ghosts. He tried to motion as best he could but it was clear his brother wasn’t getting it. Reginald must have heard Ben nearly shouting at him and marched over, demanding explainations, but Klaus didn’t notice him until there was a hand on his shoulder and he was being spun around.

“Number Four! What is the meaning behind this?”

Ghosts were looking, drawn to the sound of talking. They pleaded louder, but Reginald’s cold voice pinned him like a dart. He couldn’t help but talk.

“There’s so many of them,” he whispered. 

The man’s eyes gleamed. “Explain, Number Four. How many?”

“Dozens. I don’t know. Bullet wounds, large, mainly through the head and chest. Very few in other places. All confused. They were all recently killed, they don’t know what’s going on, all drifted through the wall over there-” He was babbling, because in his recitment of Reginald’s questions he always asked, ghosts had turned to him.

“Remarkable.” Reginald released his shoulder and reached up, taking off his monocle and polishing it on the edge of his shirt. A ghost reached desperately for him, bluish hand passing through his chest. “Go to them, Number Four. Ask about their death. Who killed them? Where?”

Klaus knew he should disobey, self-preservation screaming almost as loud as they were. But still he stood fully, turning to face the nearest one. One of the later ones, dressed in white doctors clothes with two bullet wounds, one in his upper chest and one in his stomach. He wasn’t screaming, just whispering something Klaus guessed was prayers.  
The man’s whispers increased as he walked closer, a hand reaching out and passing through his shoulder. He could feel it as nothing but a slight breeze but the man seemed to curl in on himself as his hand faded away beneath Klaus’ skin. More prayers echoed from his mouth. 

They cut off when Klaus looked up and asked a question. “What’s your name?”

Screams.

The man seemed confused, blood weeping alongside the tears on his face. “Dr. Walter.” His voice was strangely normal. It hadn’t yet taken on the slight echoing tone of the ghosts, nor the haunting aftertone of the dead. Klaus didn’t like it. “What happened? Who are you? Where am I, there’s blood, it’s hit my left lung but hasn’t exited my back, why am I still breathing-”

“Where’re you from?”

“Sanai Hospital, I was finishing my shift in the birthing unit, we had a mother who had some difficulties with her newborn, issues opening left eye, noticed it wasn’t responding well to light, reacted slowly-”

Dr. Walter was, rather obviously, a doctor, and even in death he showed that. His response to being dead was to list every concern he had faced that day. Klaus found it almost relieving compared to the quickly noticing other ghosts who were mostly still screaming. “What happened when you were shot?”

“Shot?” His fingers fell to his chest and felt the blood. “Large bullet, larger than a pistol, shot twice. Hit the ground on the first shot to the lower stomach, didn’t exit back. Stopped seeing on the second shot.”

“Focus, please?” Klaus didn’t know how to make him talk. Normally all ghosts could talk about was their death. “How did you die?”

“Woman. Five feet, eight or nine inches. In a mask?” He seemed confused. “Pink, little ears. She had an injury on her left foot - I could see it. I was hiding under my desk and saw her walk by. A limp. Then I must have made a noise because she saw me. I tried to run. She shot me. I fell. She shot me again.”

The words were coming faster now. “And then I wasn’t on the ground, but I still was. Blood, over three liters, and it kept coming. The woman was still there, and a man. Blue mask. Six feet. She had shot Dr. Hodder too. But she left Dr. Jenkins alive. He was under the desk. She saw him. But she left the room.”

Klaus turned away. He had heard enough. But Dr. Walter wasn’t done. “I was floating. I still am. Four inches above ground? I-”

Reginald was watching him avidly, eyes narrowed in frustration at how long Klaus had taken. He tried to relay the information as fast as he could, stringing together words even though he couldn’t hear himself talk. Dr. Walter was by his ear, screaming facts about the two killers he had noticed, repeating about how he had been shot again and again. More ghosts joined.

He was crying. Reginald grabbed his shoulders and said something, eyebrows lowered and angry, but Klaus couldn’t understand. “I can’t hear you,” he shouted, over and over for every time the ghosts screamed, but he couldn’t hear himself. Reginald shook him.

“-ber Four!” The voice broke through the other ghosts for a second. “Get a hold-”

And then it was gone again. Klaus stared, tears streaming down his face, at the man and the ghosts behind him.

-

Klaus woke a day later, hidden under his blankets. He had wrapped his sheets around both of his legs and his chest was sweaty, bloody marks scratched up on his arms and scarlet under his fingernails. Reaching feverishly, he managed to grab the glass of lukewarm water on his bedside table and down it. 

There were four ghosts in his room. Dr. Walter was one, and all the rest were new. Most began talking as soon as he started moving. He covered his ears and tried to get out of bed. It took him a few times with his legs tangled, but then he was out. He was still in his clothes from yesterday, grey light glimmering through his window. Habit straightened his tie, rebellion removed his socks, and confusion sent him stumbling out the door.

Reginald was waiting for him in the kitchen. He walked slowly over to him, Dr. Walter scared and confused in his ears. “Number Four.” His voice was as deep as ever, but now the ghosts seemed more spread out around the Academy, letting him hear his father and giving him some semblance of peace. 

Klaus nodded. He didn’t know what to say.

“What happened yesterday was your failure to control your power. The ghosts cannot hurt you and yet you continue to remain scared of them. Before today, I had accepted that, as you never let it affect your training. But no longer. Today, we will begin resistance training for the ghosts.”

He cast a glance over at the discarded plates in the sink. Mom was cleaning them, humming tunelessly. She smiled at him when he looked at her, but didn’t leave her station. His siblings were nowhere to be found. “Where’s Ben?”

“Number Six and the others are doing their assigned reading. You and I, however, will be leaving now. Come along.”

His stomach rumbled. Mom smiled so prettily and offered him a small bag, holding an apple and sandwich. He accepted it even as Reginald put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the front door.

Klaus had only ever been outside a few times, and his nerves weren’t able to beat the excitement that watching the gate swing out brought. His bare feet stepped on the cold concrete, but Reginald didn’t say anything about his clothing. The man seemed distracted.

The car was parked out front. Klaus slid into the back, pulling out the sandwich and starting to eat it. Peanut butter and jelly. The apple was red and bright. “Where are we going?”

“Special training.” After a moment, the engine purred to life and rolled out of the parking spot. The ghosts at the front of the Academy faded to splotches of blue as they drove away. Klaus didn’t have long enough to see the ones in the streets, even driving as slow as they were. It was merely streaks of blue mixed with the actual humans. He turned his gaze back to his food and continued eating.

Wherever they were going, it wasn’t far away. Within fifteen minutes, Reginald had reached the outer edge of the city, away from the endless rows of houses and shops. Green grass lined the road, bright and crisp even under the clouds of the day. He dropped the apple core into the bag and watched his surroundings.

Klaus saw the dead before he saw the gravestone.

They were mostly dead. Only a few ghosts were still there, and those that existed there were already rapidly changing. Shrieking masses of blue and white and silver that had a face only if he looked long enough. Klaus shut the eyes and covered his ears. “Please, Sir, no-”

Reginald spun in his chair and glared at him. His mustache was quivering. “This again! Number Four, your silly fear is going to be the death of you or another member of the Academy. This is your chance to get over it.”

His father still had to drag him out of the car.

A hand firmly on his collar, he pulled Klaus along as the boy stumbled, trying to catch his footing as they moved ever on. Every time his bare feet touched the gravedirt, energy seemed to both flow in and out of him. His breath hissed. A building rose from the earth, made of thick grey bricks but he could barely see them past the blue. A door creaked open, thick wood that seemed half rotted already past the decayed man in front of it-

He was inside. Cement pressed against his feet as he stumbled, freed from Reginald’s grip on the back of his collar. Klaus turned, confused, trying to make sense of what was around him. It didn’t make sense.

“Face your fears, Number Four,” Reginald said. Klaus turned to him just in time to see the door slide close with a resulting bang. A latch clicked into place.

Something swirled next to his face and he flinched, arms tight to his chest. He flailed with his legs, trying to find something real. Stone. A wall. Corner. His back hit the cement hard enough to force his breath out of his lips and then he slid down the side, knees to his chest. Fierce terror ran through his bones. 

It was cold. It was freezing. Bare feet skittered over stone to try and keep feeling but his toes slowly lost all semblance of existence. The cold bit its fangs into the center of his soul and stayed there, wrapping claws around his limbs to anchor itself.

The dead here didn’t have his name. That made it almost easier, but then they were just screaming, flesh decaying in front of him as they shook arms and legs and missing heads. There was no chance of pretending like he couldn’t notice them. They knew it the moment he hid from them.

A woman with half of her head gone, rotted away. Now that he wasn’t ignoring them, he could see the visible difference in the ghosts from the dead - the ghosts were still like the way they had died. The dead took after their current bodies. Rot turned her skin black and dried brown blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Her eye was glassy. The other was missing.

Blood dripped from a man with a hatchet through his chest. It splashed over the ground, and he knew it would disappear after a couple of minutes but Klaus wasn’t going to make it that long. His eyes were closed and his ears were covered but every time he felt the breeze of a ghost they snapped open. 

His chest heaved. There wasn’t any air except for the stale, cold death. The dead shrieked.

They didn’t give him the freedom of passing out.

-

Reginald pushed him through the door. He walked slowly, feet slowly regaining the feeling from their blue appearance. His fingers were no better. He could still see his breath in front of him.

“To bed, Number Four. Your special training will resume Wednesday.”

What day was it?

It was dark outside, but the lights were still on. He hugged far away from every shadow, keeping his gaze fixed on the lamps even as he stumbled up the stairs. Dr. Walter was in the corner. Or was it him? He couldn’t tell. Blue. Not alive. Ghost. Dead.

Klaus tried his damnest to get to the kitchen but couldn’t comprehend why he couldn’t walk through the two ghosts in the doorframe. It took him a fair while to realize they were alive, and they were his brothers, and they were saying his name. “Ben? Diego?”

“Klaus.” Ben’s voice was high and breathy. “Dad said you were still recovering from whatever happened yesterday. What happened?”

Oh. They didn’t know. What had he expected? Reginald never told them anything. He wasn’t supposed to talk about special training. Even Ben had been tight-lipped. Everyone knew that.

“Bath.” The answer came quietly. “Pogo let me out of the infirmary and I took a bath and it got too cold.”

Diego stared at him. “A bath?”

He didn’t know what to say. Maybe there wasn’t anything to. So he settled for a nod. “Yeah.”

Neither of them looked convinced.

“I’m going to bed. Good night, you guys.” His voice was still quiet, but he managed to put a wide, silly grin on his face, the way he always used to do whenever he was planning on drawing a mustache on Five’s face while he slept. “See you tomorrow.”

Ben lingered, but eventually left Klaus to his own issues. They both climbed the stairs and disappeared into their rooms. He watched them go and then turned his gaze elsewhere. Behind the kitchen was the sitting room. Behind the sitting room was a bar. Behind the bar was a cabinet.

It was strangely easy to unlock it. He popped the door open with a hazy calm, sliding a metal coaster beneath the latch and jerking it off. Dozens of bottles were in front of him. He grabbed the first and slid the others around to cover its missing position. The door was closed and he was moving.

He climbed the stairs, barely able to hear his own thoughts. When he arrived at his room, he shut it, locked it, and propped a chair underneath the handle, sticking it straight through the body of a shrieking doctor with red between her eyes.

The first sip was the hardest. But Klaus knew what the alcohol would do to him, had read about it in his stupid assigned reading time, and so he kept drinking, pausing for breath only when spots burst in front of his eyes.

Ghosts faded away. The bottle was half gone. More disappeared. Three quarters. He was alone. Empty.

Klaus spent the eve of his thirteenth birthday with a bottle of golden liquid and barely remembered any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's really late and I'm posting this instead of sleeping so I hope you enjoy. Klaus sure isn't.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So I run to the river,
> 
> It was bleedin',
> 
> I run to the sea."

It started off so simple.

Five went in first. He dropped Allison next to the largest man, the one with the gun, and flashed out before he was seen. No one was scared for Allison. She was Number Three - she could handle herself. They all could. These situations were more of their lives than food or water.

Klaus grinned as he managed to finish picking the lock. Ben sighed but followed after him as they ran into the bank. Luther could have broken the door down, but he had already been flashed by Five. Klaus was lookout. Ben was cleanup. They had to do their own thing.

Something blue ran around the corner of his vision, bright and flashing, but it was gone the next second. Ghosts were drawn to the violence, to the bite of gunfire and stench of blood, but here, with the adrenaline running alongside his blood and something to do, he could almost ignore them.

Luther grunted, jumping over the bar counter. The man who had been threatening the hostages barely had more than a second to react before he was picked up and thrown, reaching a peak of nearly twenty feet before colliding with the window. Klaus laughed as glass fell like a thousand stars.

The big man aimed at his friend. There was a confused moment for both of them before a bullet rang and the other collapsed, howling. Diego flicked his wrists down, pulling out two knives, and curved them around a corner. Two hostages screamed as they were sprayed with blood.

Klaus couldn’t do much, but he and Ben stayed near the walls and watched. Police sirens gave a melody to the event, even as a ghost emerged from the wall. The man Diego had killed. The knives were still there, plunged to the hilt in his chest, and he didn’t do anything but stare at them. Klaus kept his eyes on the ghost, waiting.

There were two things that could happen, he knew. He could either move on or be angry. Given the circumstances, he expected the second.

After a moment, the man turned that sort-of blue, his human formed losing the sharper colors and becoming pale. Klaus bit his lip and looked away. There was so much to focus on, one more stupid ghost wouldn’t hurt. None of the hostages had been killed. They were worse. This was still good.

Ben yelped and ducked as Luther accidentally kicked a part of the bar in their direction. Plaster rained around them. Klaus grabbed his arm and ran in the opposite direction.

Five flashed onto what was left of the counter, sitting peacefully. The last man in the room snapped to him. Bullets rang. Five flashed out, grabbed a stapler, and took the gun. While the man was confused, a fist snapped across his face. Five grinned and jumped down, proudly brushing some of his hair back. 

Luther shook himself, looking around. Most of the hostages were still huddled in various packs, looking around with wide, nervous eyes. “Three? Can you get the hostages out?” He said, forcing his voice an octave lower. He did love disguising himself.

Allison nodded, heading for the largest group first. Her words were always the gentlest and she knew how to use them, even without her rumors. None of the others were good at calming people down.

Ben grabbed onto Klaus’ arm, palms sweaty. His eyes were closed even as he aimed his head toward the last room in the bank.

Before anything else had happened, Five had trapped most of the robbers in the room right outside the vault. Even now, they pounded on the bulletproof glass, muffled curses echoing throughout the building. All of them had guns. If the police went in, there was a chance not all of them would come out.

Luther’s gaze slid to Ben. He was always the one in charge. Number Six sucked in a breath, opened his eyes, and let go of Klaus’ jacket. With a walk like one behind a funeral march, he crossed the room to the door, unbuttoning his jacket at the same time. When he had finished, he unlocked the door and slipped inside.

Gunfire opened, splitting the room with the roar of bullets. At the same time, high, aching screams echoed off the glass room. Klaus averted his gaze, staring upward. Even in the corner of his eye, an ugly blue began to glow.

One of the glass panels shattered, glass breaking further on its trip downward. There was silence. With the creak of a broken door, Ben reemerged, jacket buttoned back up and sopping in red.

“Can we go home now?” His voice was hoarse. “Please.”

Luther moved past him to inspect the room, like he was always taught. But there wasn’t anything left. All of them knew that They never liked survivors.

Klaus stepped forward, pointedly ignoring the blood. It was a lot worse than the previous ones - Ben looked like he had almost lost control of Them, and he wouldn’t doubt that some of that blood was his own. The two of them stood by each other as Luther returned, nodding. “Good job, Six.”

“Thanks.”

A ghost floated through the glass, one leg ripped off. Torn ligaments dangled like streams from the hole.

But they didn’t get to go home. Ben stood in front of the gathered crowd, dripping in scarlet, as they snapped pictures and Reginald waxed poetics about them. Even when Klaus cracked a joke about staining the seating on Reginald’s car, he didn’t look away from the floor.

-

Ben was more withdrawn than normal. It took him a few days to leave his room, ignoring a special training session. When he emerged, his hair was cut, shortened to a neat thing around his ears. He smelled like a thousand variations of soap. Klaus took it upon himself to cheerful his brother back up, and he did so by waking him up at midnight, climbing to the roof, and counting the stars.

He made another mural that day, of Ben surrounded by books and stars and jam. This one was hidden behind the bed to escape Reginald.

-

Vanya walked slowly into his room. He only noticed her when she walked through the half-rotted form of Dr. Walter, solid form appearing past the blue-grey. The man wailed at the offense and Klaus’ head jerked as it broke past the roaring tones of The Hollies. When he saw his sister, he savored the last chord and pulled his walkman off. “Sis! How are you doing? I swear, you never visit me anymore-”

She was shaking, wet on her cheeks. Klaus trailed off. “Sis?”

“Five’s gone,” she said softly. “He went to the yard this morning and didn’t come back for lunch. And he didn’t come back for dinner. He’s not in his room.”

“What?”

“He’s gone. Mr. Hargreeves refuses to talk about it. I- Have you seen him? Did he talk to you yesterday?”

Klaus knew little of what had happened yesterday, the empty bottle beneath his bed. “I haven’t seen him. Did you check the basement? Or maybe his closet, you know lil Five likes to write his equations all over the walls-”

“He’s not in the house!” Vanya almost shouted, before abruptly pulling herself in. “I haven’t seen him, and neither has Mom. You’re the last one I asked. No one has.”

Klaus sat further onto his bed. The remains of his hangover were going strong and his throat burned for something sharp, but he didn’t know what to do. “Maybe Pogo, have you already asked him? He never seems to sleep, so he could have been on guard today. The alley behind the house, or maybe the tree up on the hill, or in the storage shed in the courtyard-”

“Klaus.”

He shut up.

“Have you seen him?”

He shook his head, still silent.

“Okay.”

Tears still dripping from her eyes, Vanya turned on her heel and left the room. In her absence, Dr. Walter shrieked all the louder.

-

“Luther?” Klaus peered around the corner. Allison always locked her door after he had put on her heels but she hadn’t been in there either. “Luther, I have a question for you...”

He saw the back of Diego’s head disappear down the hall and made a move to follow him, but someone else stepped around it. Taller than he could hope to be. Luther kept walking toward him.

“Luther!” Klaus untucked himself from around the corner. “Luther, what happened to Five? Is he really gone?”

“Yes.” The single word cracked at the end, but Luther closed his eyes and visibly drew himself back up. “Yes. Five- Five has gone missing, and no one has been able to find him. Sir’s security cameras in the courtyard are shorted out and there isn’t any footage for 32 minutes of that area. It was criminals. Someone snuck into the Academy, shut off the footage, and took Five.” The boy’s voice was forcibly emotionless. 

Klaus stood there. He didn’t know what to say. It had only been a day, maybe he had just snuck out, running off to the town. He was smart enough to disable the cameras - which Klaus hadn’t even known about, of fucking course - and get out. Maybe he had run away. There was a thousand, a million explanations for this. There wasn’t any sort of chance Five was dead. It was Five.

“I need you to summon him.”

Klaus didn’t outwardly react, a dead’s screams rattling from the room next to them. Luther’s hand hit his shoulder.

“What?”

“We need you to summon him.”

Klaus’ eyes went wide. “I- Luther, I can’t just summon him, he’s not dead! This is Five! It’s only been a day, not even, what if he just left the house and explored town? You know how much he loves coffee, maybe that’s what he wanted, just went downtown to get some good caffeine. Dad never carries anything like that, he complains about that all the time.” He was babbling, brushing hair back and plucking at the edges of his clothes, lifting his feet up and down. “Five is too smart to be tricked by something like that. He’s got all those equations written on his walls and books and paper, he just went out to test a few of them, like chucking apples at old ladies and seeing how well they bounce-”

“Shut up for once in your life, Four!” Luther shouted, fists pulled at his side. “We need to see what happened to Five and stop the criminals who did it!”

“I can’t.” His voice was raw. “Luther, I swear, I don’t know how, I just talk to them-”

Number One was shaking, both from anger and fear. “Four, I need to avenge him, no one can kill one of us and get away with it. That’s what we were taught, what you should have learned! We defend and protect the world, especially from someone powerful enough to take down one of us. All you do is drink, you don’t even care!”

“Luther-”

He suddenly straightened, brushing against the rough, wet tears over his cheeks. With barely a look toward Klaus, Luther spun and turned back toward the way he had started. In a second, he was gone.

Klaus frowned, even as he jittered and shook. Why had-

“Number Four.” The voice was the same hard it had always been. Klaus turned slowly.

“Yeah?”

Reginald didn’t outwardly react to his tone, which only made chills run up Klaus’ spine. The screams increased. There was a new bottle in his room, a wine, something dark and red that he had found in the numerous downstairs rooms, covered in dust. Aged, his books said, which would make it tastier. Klaus didn’t need tasty. He needed the dull, the blank, the grey - but Reginald had been much more conscious of his liquor cabinet recently and he had had to branch out.

“Number One told me you did not summon Number Five.”  
Klaus’ voice broke. The dead that had been Charlotte shrieked - this wasn’t her kitchen, this was the hall, why was she here - and he could barely think. “I don’t know how to summon them! They’re just there, I can’t get them to come or go away-” he stopped.

He had made them go away. One, in particular. Robert. His heart gave a pang at the name. At the thought, the palm on his left hand began to itch, something scratching from beneath the skin. He clasped his hands behind his back. No. That had only pushed away the one protection he had. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - do that to Five. Not to his brother. He scratched at his palm, fevered thoughts running through his head. Everything was changing. 

“Then you need to learn how to summon them.”

-

Klaus screamed, but Reginald didn’t care, fist wrapped around his collar and dragging him solidly over the ground. Even with his eyes closed, he swore he could still see the bonewhite of the tombstones, swarmed by the blue of the deads. No ghosts lived here. A graveyard took all the life and spirit from ghosts, leaving wailing chunks of energy. 

Reginald growled as Klaus went completely boneless in an attempt to shake him off. “Number Four, you will never amount to anything if you cannot get rid of this stupid fear.” Klaus didn’t react. He could barely hear the words being spoken. The hand didn’t leave his collar, exposed skin covered in goosebumps. He was shivering.

Furry hands with thick pads grabbed onto his ankles. Klaus gave a confused shout and then he was being picked up, arms scrabbling at the ground. In the flash from when he opened his eyes, he could see Pogo, staring determinedly away from his face as he helped haul Klaus to the mausoleum. He screamed.

His hand skimmed the ground and a jolt of energy went through him, like he had been struck by lightning. He stopped thrashing, confused - he hadn’t felt anything like that before. Reginald kept pulling him along, but he touched his hand to the ground again. Same burst of electricity. His fingers closed around whatever it had been. Dirt. Gravedirt.

When he was able to focus on the outside world again, frozen stone pressed against his legs. The gravedirt was tightly pressed against his chest. Already, screams began to overload his senses, pushing away thoughts. But the gravedirt remained, a burning presence of energy from where it touched his skin.

With fevered movements, he used his free hand to rip at the buttons of his jacket. Taking far too long, he tore it open and pressed the dirt to his chest.

Klaus gasped.

It was like stepping into a fire, but it wasn’t warm. He could feel something slide through his body, taking the chill from the energy around him, but it didn’t warm him up. What it did, however, was invigorate him.

He managed to open his eyes. A woman gargled past her rotted skull, one eye sunken and black in the socket. Klaus trembled like a leaf in the wind but forced himself to stand. His knees pressed against the ground. Another, weaker, bolt of energy went through him.

Didn’t ghosts go to the underground?

Keeping as best of a hold as he could on the gravedirt, he tore off his shoes. One of his socks was ruined by his scrambling nails. But when he pressed the soles of his feet against the frigid stone of the building, he felt it. Energy.

He felt like a glass being filled up. It wasn’t like regular energy, after a cup of something caffeine in it, but something darker. Slowly, it ran alongside his blood, reaching every crevice of his body.

The dead around him were changing.

That same woman, the one with only half a face, lurched at him. But she was clean, not wavering, no blue light infused around her form. He screamed-

His left palm hit her squarely in the chest. With a wail that echoed through his bones, she vanished in a burst of light.

In an instant, all the energy that had built up disintegrated. Klaus swayed, panting despite the cold, and he lost his grip. The gravedirt tumbled to the ground. He looked down, searching for it, and his vision went black.

He awoke to pain. Lines burned their way up his legs, fierce and endless, and in a jerk of panic he shot to his feet. Again, the energy came. Klaus looked around, eyes wild and scared, and saw blood dripping from his skin. Claw marks. His own hands had been trapped beneath his chest. 

All the dead were that same clean, effortless shape, looking so agonizingly alive Klaus wanted to die.

“Stay back!” He screamed, feeling the energy slowly enter him once again. It was slow, so much slower, without the gravedirt, but it was coming. The dead howled. One reached forward, scratching with terrible claws. Klaus kept his left hand behind him and swatted at it with his right.

His hand connected. The dead recoiled, the first sense of feeling in its existence reaching its rotted brain. It looked at its arm with almost emotion in its empty sockets. Klaus couldn’t believe it.

Fire connected on his leg. A dead had gotten close while he was distracted, scratching at his leg and drawing blood. He didn’t have enough energy yet. “Get back!” He screamed, dust entering his lungs, trying to punch at them with his right hand. His left stayed firmly by his side. He couldn’t risk sending them away and completely depriving himself of energy. The dead shrieked back their challenge.

When Reginald came back, seven hours later, he saw Klaus standing in the middle of the mausoleum, barefoot and shirtless. Blood dripped from every inch of skin. He screamed endlessly, eyes glowing a brilliant blue.

Reginald smiled.

-

“There you go, dear,” Grace said sweetly, dabbing her cloth at the last splotch of blood on his hands. Klaus stared silently at them until she touched his shoulder, jolting him back.  
“I- thanks, Mom. I’ll go back to my room now,” he said.

She nodded, still smiling. “Make sure to come back tomorrow for me to disinfect those scratches, okay?” They hadn’t been deep, but there were just so many of them. Klaus had had to get a blood transfusion to make up what he lost. His head spun.

He put his clothes back on shakily. There was barely an inch of him that hadn’t been injured. The dead weren’t strong, death robbing them of their muscles and bones, but they had numbers and a lack of fear. His arms shook.

It was dark, maybe midnight. Klaus’ head was filled with thoughts of the bottle in his room, that dark liquid that made everything the same color. The strange energy was somewhere in him, but he wasn’t getting any more. He needed dead ground to get it. This wasn’t dead ground. Yet. Maybe he would die here, ripped open by the dead that lived within the walls.

He got up the stairs, the pain meds kicking in by that point. The world started to make more sense, swirling in focus. He counted each step. His room was the second on the left. He made his way over to it, grabbing the handle and pulling it open.

Two figures waited for him.

Ben and Diego sat on his bed, staring at him. He froze in the doorway, eyes flicking up for a second. Dr. Walter and someone else were behind them, babbling, but he didn’t have the energy. He was-

“Where have you been?” Ben’s voice was strangely sharp.

He stared at them. “Special training.”

Diego shook his head, a scowl on his face. “Bullshit. Reginald has been here the whole time. You can’t train without him. Even Vanya has been in her room. You can’t give me that excuse.”

Klaus frowned, a pounding building up in his mind. “It was fucking special training, alright? Everyone’s is different. That’s why it’s called special training. I don’t see you dealing with Them, huh?”

Ben gritted his teeth.

Klaus dropped to his knees, shuffling between the various legs into order to stretch an arm beneath his bed. He didn’t have that energy, so the ghosts couldn’t touch him, but they could and were still screaming, drowning all thoughts. His fingers met the neck of a bottle.

He pulled it out, standing back up. Diego stood to match him. “Don’t do it, Klaus.”

“I’ve fucking deserved it,” he muttered back, prying at the top. It was surprisingly easy to get it out. He gave a look to both of them - dark, narrowed eyes from Diego, frustration from Ben - before putting the tip on his lips and throwing it back. 

The world alit in horrible clarity.

“You sick fuck!” Klaus bellowed, dropping the bottle from his hands. Pain split his head. He stumbled, turning to the door and and sprinting to the closest bathroom. Dropping to his knees, he immediately vomited up the thick red-black whatever that had been in his mouth. It seemed to crawl up his throat like a living thing. As he threw up, he could hear the soft footsteps of one of his brothers coming up behind him. 

He recovered, though slowly, and stood to face Diego. His brother watched him cooly. “What the hell was in there?”

“Vinegar.” Diego’s voice was calm, no hint of a stutter. “I knew you’d try to drink again. So I poured it out and replaced it.”

Klaus gagged again, mouth rough and dry and thick all at the same time. The taste burned like alcohol, but it didn’t dim his senses - it strengthened them, making him all the more aware.

“But they’re so loud,” he pleaded. “All they do is scream and shout. Sometimes I can’t even hear you speak because of them screaming! How is that fair? If I drink, they stop. C’mon, Ben, tell him-”

“I told him where you hid it.”

Both Klaus and Diego jerked - the former from the betrayal, the latter from not realizing Ben would show his hand like that. Ben stood behind Diego, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed. “They’ve been anxious for the past week, Klaus, and I’ve started using that to guess you’re going to do something. The drinking is going to kill you, and I refuse to watch you go along that route.”

Diego nodded, but Klaus cut him off. “Benji, Benny boy, you don’t know what they sound like.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was pleading. “They’re always here, they are screaming at all hours of the day and I can’t get them to shut up - wouldn’t you drink too if you could shut Them up?”

Ben stiffened, and Klaus abruptly knew he’d crossed a line. Before he could apologize, Ben started talking. “The rest of the liquor in the cabinet is gone too. I’ve told Father, and he’s hidden the rest of it. You won’t be going on the next mission and your special training is going to be doubled.”

His heart skipped a beat, then another, then a third. Doubled? Every scratch over his body burned. He had barely been able to live with once a week, and that was before he could touch them and they could touch him and- “For how long?” His voice was weak, shaking.

“A month.” Ben stayed strong, but Diego seemed to be able to read the room better. Klaus was shaking. His fingers trembled and wound around each other, room tilting. The dead that had once been one of the two little girls in the kitchen shrieked all the louder. No alcohol. He didn’t have any hidden in his room and Reginald wouldn’t let him leave the house, and he doubted he could sneak out if he put Luther on guard. Maybe Allison would rumor him to his bed, where he’d be trapped there under the screams and shrieks for hours before being shoved into the mausoleum and tore apart by the dead as he screamed-

“-aus?” Diego’s voice echoed as if through a blanket. “Klaus?”

“Get out.”

Both of his brothers jerked. “Wh-”

“Get out!” He was screaming, trying to match the dead of the room. “Get out, get out, get out, you don’t get to make these damn decisions in my life! Both of you! It’s my life, as fucked up as it is. Maybe when I get dragged back in as a corpse by Dad you’ll understand how much I need it! Out, out, OUT!”

Diego grabbed the stunned Ben’s arm and pulled them both out of the cramped bathroom. When they were gone, Klaus collapsed against the toilet lid and sobbed. The tears came fast and heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. But now shit is starting to get real.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is going to be a new fic I'm going to be updating infrequently, but it's basically an exploration/retelling of the series with Klaus' powers being a lot less clean-cut then they are in the show. I haven't read the comics but I've pulled random bits of knowledge from them, as well as mostly creating the facts of his powers on my own. Klaus' childhood is probably going to last through the next chapter, and maybe a third, but then I'll get to after. Hope you enjoy!


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